


Uniformly Terrible

by Chex (provetheworst)



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: BuckyCap - Freeform, Costume Kink, M/M, Past Steve Rogers/Sharon Carter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Chex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning from a mission where the Invaders all had to wear their old costumes, Bucky realizes Steve's kind of got a thing for people in uniform. Mostly if those people in uniform are Bucky, and if the uniform in question involves booty shorts and tights. Bucky might as well take advantage of the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uniformly Terrible

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in 616 circa 2010, taking place right after the [Invaders Now! miniseries](http://marvel.com/comics/issue/34480/invaders_now_2010_1) where the gang all went to Europe and it turned out Steve had Bucky's old costume handy for some reason. I thought that was hilarious. Then I wrote a story about it. Further context: Bucky is still Cap, and Steve's doing his Commander Rogers schtick at the moment.
> 
> I ... I don't know how to summarize that storyline, other than "The Invaders went to Europe and had to deal with an unresolved situation from WWII. Magic happened so obviously they had to don their old costumes for this. Duh." Obviously they ended up saving the day. If you didn't read the mini, it's really fun and worth a look IMO. There's also a summary on Wikipedia. 
> 
> Just know that Steve has Bucky's old costume.
> 
> thank you hawkcap for looking over this and also cheering me on as usual

Bucky finds the other costume not long after they get back from Europe. He's joking around - "Where the hell did you get my costume in that size, anyway? I've grown like a foot since I was sixteen, I know that wasn't the old one. What else are you hiding?"

"Buck -" Steve starts, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder as if to stop him. Bucky shrugs it off. Steve’s closet is so, so boring that it’s kind of delightful, in a weird way - hanger after hanger with identical copies of his current uniform, crisp military dress in a plastic bag from the dry cleaner that he hasn’t touched in - ever, possibly, Bucky wouldn’t know - and khakis. So many khakis.

But then there’s one flash of color that isn’t quite right, and it’s both familiar and not-quite-right. "This isn't from when I was sixteen."

"No," Steve says. "It's, uhm. I thought - well - it's a -"

"Some kinda weird souvenir?" Bucky asks, rubbing at the fabric between thumb and forefinger. It's softer than his old costume. That's one of the nice things about the future, particularly the bits of the future he's spent not brainwashed. Getting used to personhood again was strange, but he's finally learning to appreciate it. "Could you not afford to buy the old one back? I don't even know what you're gonna do with this thing, you're so sentimental. It's not even -"

"C'mon, it doesn't matter," Steve says.

"Nuh-uh. You're acting weird." Bucky frowns at the seams. "Is this - look at the tailoring, they got it all messed up. Unless."

Steve coughs and peers at his wrist. His face is bright red, blush mottling an otherwise-perfect complexion. "Would you look at the time? We've got a meeting with Fury."

"No, we don't," Bucky says. "You're not even wearing a watch, let alone anything that'd tell you that, come on. You're getting rusty, old man."

"Look, Buck, really, it's just - sentimental -"

Bucky considers the seams again, the way the cut is just off. The way it's too small for him now but still for someone a touch taller than he was as a teenager. His mouth quirks up as dots connect in his mind, a little belatedly. "You make Sharon wear this thing?"

"No! Of course not. Why would I do that?"

"You're the worst liar," Bucky says, grinning and pleased with himself. "That's so fucked up! That's totally fucked up, I knew you had something."

"It wasn't like that," Steve attempts, weakly.

"You're telling me she was just cosplaying at comic conventions?"

Steve takes a step back. "Yes?"

"You guys totally did it while she was wearing this. Did you wear your old costume, too, or was it -"

"I don't want to talk about this," Steve says.

"You coulda just told me you were into the booty shorts and tights," Bucky says, teeth showing in a grin as he turns on Steve, stalking forward. Steve doesn't back away.

“That would have been harassment,” Steve says. “And it’s not like it was like that anyway.”

-

_The thing is, it's all Sharon's fault. Steve tells himself this every day. Sharon's the one who liked to dress up. That's not his problem._

_It’s not his fault he liked it._

_Possibly the Bucky costume was his idea. Maybe. He won't ever admit to that._

_"Really?" she asked him, laughing, when he brought it up. Then her eyes narrowed and she raised a hand to touch his face almost absentmindedly. "That seems kind of ..."_

_"It's not - I know he's gone, it's not like that," Steve said to her, turning into her touch and resting his cheek against her palm. "And it was never really ... I just like the ..."_

_"Uh-huh.” Sharon’s voice sounded flat._

_A month later, she cornered him in his bedroom. She wore that bright blue jacket, but - the thigh highs instead of full tights were sort of an inspired choice, and her boots had heels. Bucky never once wore heels, and Steve remembers reeling himself back from that thought fast enough he got whiplash. Luckily Sharon was plenty distracting on her own, and also in the room with him, and alive. The part where she was present and alive made such a big difference in how much of his attention she got._

_"Gosh, Cap," she murmured in his ear, voice breathy and amused, with a vague attempt at the pluckiness of an old radio drama. "Are you sure we should be doing this? What if somebody finds out?"'_

_"They can't well court martial Captain America," he said, which is the last part of that conversation he can remember holding any meaning at all._

_-_

_"They can't court martial Captain America?" Sharon asked, dryly. She still wore the thigh highs, but the rest of the outfit was long gone. "Really?"_

_"Well, they could have, but it was wartime," Steve said. He ran a hand along her leg, still, as ever, in awe that she let him. Part of him, even with so many years separating him from being small and sick, wasn’t quite used to folks wanting anything to do with him. "I don't know. You're the one in the costume. Cut me some slack."_

_"They can't court martial Captain America," she repeated again, lowering her voice in mockery of his and then laughing so hard she snorted. "You idiot."_

_"What, are you going to report me for saying that?"_

-

“The nice thing is, you don’t gotta worry about anybody trying to - I don’t know, report you to the brass,” Bucky says, feeling more nervous than he lets on. “You wanna see me in it one more time? For old time’s sake, huh?”

Steve laughs like a dog that’s just been kicked.

“You’re the one who had it made,” Bucky points out. He sidles up to Steve’s side, slinging an arm around his shoulder in a way that could, if necessary, be interpreted as companionable and nothing else. “If I bet it’d fit me just right, would I win?”

“Probably,” Steve admits, finally. He clasps and unclasps his hands in front of him. He clears his throat. “You don’t mind?”

“I mean, it’s hilarious, but nah,” Bucky says. “It’s kinda cute. How long’ve you been holding on to this thing, just waiting for an excuse to get me to wear it, huh? No, no, don’t tell me. And you didn’t even think to ask. What’d you think I would say?”

“No?” Steve’s whole face is red. Bucky can remember only a very few times Steve’s ever looked that flustered. Most of them involved Peggy, back in the day.

Bucky laughs. “Try me.”

Steve clears his throat, then gathers himself up like he’s decided something. Bucky’s ready for the worst - for Steve to tell him to fuck off and that Steve only had it for - well, Bucky can’t figure out what for if it’s not some weird sex thing, but that’s not the point.

The point is that Bucky is ready for Steve to tell him he’s being obnoxious. Bucky is not ready for Steve to say, “So are you going to get changed or what?”

Bucky laughs, loud and bright. “You wanna watch, or - fine, fine, I’ll go in the bathroom. Be right out, Cap.”

“Commander,” Steve corrects him, smile gone rueful for a moment. He takes a heavy breath, looking Bucky up and down, and the uniform’s definitely a weird sex thing. Bucky is okay with that. “You’re Captain America now.”

“Sure, sure, but if I’m wearin’ that old thing.” Bucky shrugs. He knows he’s being too introspective right now but he can’t quite help it. “That doesn’t make a guy feel like he’s got much authority, you know?”

Steve licks his lips then swallows. Bucky watches his mouth a moment too long before meeting his eyes again. Steve says, “Well.”

“Well,” Bucky agrees. “I’m just gonna. Yeah.” He gathers up a uniform that’s sized just right, that feels an awful lot nicer than the rough, bright fabric he wore back in the day, and ducks into the bathroom grinning to himself.

The uniform he used to wear is so stupid. He only narrowly avoided having to wear it a couple days ago, and now here he is, shucking off his clothes willingly to change into it.

Still, pulling off his jeans and t-shirt he feels something reminiscent of how he felt the first time he put this dumb old costume on. He’d been so proud of himself back then - the culmination of all his hard work and training, laid out before him in red and blue.

The tights - leggings, whatever - are a lot more comfortable now than fifty years ago. His old ones were scratchy and never quite as mobile as he might have liked, though it’s not like they held him back any on the field. He was out of costume as often as not anyway, even on missions. These, though, the fabric’s smooth as a dream as he pulls them up over his legs.

Putting the old uniform on makes him hyper-aware of his body in a way he usually isn’t - the way that age and hard work have turned from the ropy muscle of his teenage years to a more solid build - strong calves, thick thighs. The bright red fabric only accentuates the shapes without hiding much at all.

The shorts and coat are next, and it takes him an age to do up all the buttons. Whoever put all these buttons on the coat was a goddamn idiot, and Bucky almost wishes he could go back in time just to punch the designer.

Maybe he’ll ask Reed if he can do that, later. That seems like a worthwhile use of the Future Foundation’s time and effort. If nothing else, it’ll get Reed mad, which is always funny. The resulting lecture on time travel will be less so, but Bucky’s put up with worse for less payoff. For now Bucky shelves the idea in favor of staring down at the last few pieces of his costume.

The mask isn’t far off from things he’s worn in recent years, though putting it on still feels oddly final. Like he’s finally realized just what he’s doing, which is putting on his old costume so that - what, so Steve can stare at him some? So they can finally have an excuse to do something other than stare at each other sometimes and pretend like it’s nothing?

Bucky doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He rubs at his face with his hands, then pulls on the gloves.

He used to be so proud of this costume. Wearing it now - he looks at himself in the mirror and wonders who it is, exactly, he’s become. Sometimes he still feels like the sidekick.

Then he thinks about Steve waiting out there and doesn’t feel so bad. Steve used to be proud of him, too. He remembers standing in front of a mirror, grinning like an idiot with his hands on his hips, before he’d ever really seen war. Back when all he knew was training, and only knew what war did to a man secondhand.

Steve was so proud of him back then. It’s strange to think, but Steve’s still proud of him, even now.

Bucky pulls at the legs of his tiny little shorts like that’ll cover his thighs any better. He adjusts his belt and takes a deep breath, then opens the door just a crack. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah? Everything okay?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and tells himself to stop being such a goddamn coward.

The decision serves him well, because any nerves he had go out the window when he catches sight of how Steve’s looking at him - those big blue eyes of his gone wide and awed, lips slightly parted. Like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Buck,” Steve says.

“Hey. How do I look?” Bucky asks, doing a little twirl for the hell of it. “Am I everything you dreamed of?”

“Yeah.” Steve sounds way too sincere.

“Shit, Rogers.” Bucky rubs at his nose, hiding his smile. “Right to the ego. I got an impressionable young mind here. What kinda operation are you running here, Cap?”

“I’ve got to keep morale up somehow, don’t I?” Steve says. He shakes his head, still looking somewhat awed. “C’mere.”

Bucky steps in, and Steve - Steve straightens his collar, smoothing it down with those big hands of his. He swallows hard and says, “What, trying to make me look good before inspection?”

“No.” Steve gives him a look, mild and pleased. “It’s just good to have you back.”

There’s a lot of ways Steve could mean that. Bucky exhales and lets himself slump forward, wrapping his arms around Steve. Steve’s hands come up to rub at his back.

“Okay?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Bucky feels safe in a way he hasn’t in years. Not since he wore this uniform properly, if he’s honest, and maybe not even then.

There’s a lot less difference between the person he used to be and the person he is now than he’d sometimes like to admit. One of the weird constants that’s stuck around, through a plane run into the ocean and years in and out of cryo, through losing an arm and his memories and getting both back in roundabout, artificial ways, is that Steve’s bigger than him.

Even fully grown, well past the point where puberty has any hope of helping, even with the amount of exercise he does, Bucky’s smaller than Steve. Bucky isn’t a small guy.

He has an absurd moment trying to think of people bigger than him and all he can come up with off the top of his head are Luke Cage and the Hulk, neither of whom he especially relishes hugging, and neither of whom he wants to make out with.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says. “I wanna - you know how many years I’ve wanted to kiss you?”

“How many?”

“Well, it’s gotta be seventy by now,” Bucky says. “No, okay, more like - maybe ten, total? Five? How long have we even known each other?”

“Hell if I know,” Steve admits, voice warm. “That long, though, huh?”

Rather than trying to do the math on how long he’s actually known Steve, Bucky pulls away just enough so he can press his mouth up against Steve’s. In the past century or so, Bucky’s done a lot of things, yet this is somehow the first time he’s ever kissed Steve Rogers.

Steve’s still taller than him, so he goes up on his toes a little to make things equal, then decides better of it. He settles back on his heels and lets Steve follow after him; bending down’s the easier job anyway.

Late as it is in the day, Steve’s got a bit of stubble on his upper lip despite having shaved in the morning. Bucky wasn’t even here but way back when Steve shaved every goddamn day and Bucky’d bet his left nut on Steve still doing that even now. Still: stubble. It’s a little scratchy, and Bucky’s into it.

He’s also into how Steve’s holding onto his biceps like he’s suddenly worried about touching anywhere else. There’s something very proper and charming about it.

Cute as that is, Bucky’s never been one for proper. He smiles against Steve’s mouth - prompting a “What?” that he doesn’t bother answering - and lets a hand slip on down to Steve’s ass, giving it a squeeze.

That makes Steve jump, which is about the funniest thing Bucky’s made happen in at least a month. He nips at Steve’s lower lip, says, “So are you gonna corrupt me here, or are we gonna keep kissin’ like schoolkids all day?”

“Here I thought I was supposed to inspire people,” Steve says.

“Hey, your ass in those tights of yours inspired me plenty,” Bucky says. “Woulda followed you to the end of the earth just to get a look at this.” He squeezes again for emphasis.

“And here I thought you were in it for god and country.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, that’s what they can put in the history books,” Bucky says. “Sounds pretty, but who cares? You’re a damned miracle of science is what you are.”

Steve turns his head so he’s whisper-close to Bucky’s ear, his breath hot and moist against Bucky’s skin. “D’you ever shut up?”

“I might if you give me a reason to.” Bucky shivers a little, tilting his head aside in hopes Steve might take the hint and kiss his neck. He’s in luck for once, because Steve does just that, though almost criminally gently. “But no promises -”

“Quiet, soldier,” Steve says. “That’s an order.”

Bucky licks his lips. The sleeves of his jacket muffle the sound, but the his left arm’s servos rev up and the plates realign slightly. “Never was much good at following orders.”

“Buck,” Steve says, not quite as a warning. He pushes Bucky up against the wall, though, and Bucky leans up against it, breath and pulse both quickening.

Shoulders flat against the wall, Bucky spreads his legs to let Steve stand between them more readily; he cants his hips forward, letting his crotch rub up against Steve’s leg. He’s already half hard and they’ve barely done anything. Seventy years of anticipation’ll do that.

This time when Steve kisses him, they’re both more forward about it. Steve gets a hand tangled in Bucky’s curly mess of hair - he’s been meaning to get a haircut but is suddenly glad he didn’t, just this once. Maybe he can put it off a bit longer. For his part, Bucky’s got his arms around Steve’s waist, hands squarely on that ass of his, because Bucky’s awful fond of it.

Steve grinds up against Bucky and Bucky tries not to make any noises that he’ll be embarrassed about later.

When Steve licks at Bucky’s mouth, Bucky opens right up for him and lets Steve take charge. Turns out Steve’s expertise in leadership extends to non-combat situations, too.

Bucky’s spent almost his whole life fighting, since even before his dad died, and days with chances not to fight come rarely these days, so nights like this where he doesn’t have to are all the more precious. This one’s definitely going down as a personal best, though, because he’s got Steve Rogers rubbing up on him and kissing him desperately like they might never get the chance to do this again, and it’s kind of a rush.

Steve actually wants him. Wrapping his head around that’s too complicated, but Bucky’ll have plenty of time to freak out over it later, he’s pretty sure. Seventy-some years and he never figured he’d see the day. Never mind that most of those years he didn’t know he wanted this; it feels long enough anyway.

“Used to,” Bucky says vaguely, as Steve gets distracted and starts kissing at his jaw, “I used to think about this basically all the time. God. Toro was so tired of my shit -”

“Toro knew and I didn’t?”

Bucky laughs. “You had more important things to think about, Cap.”

Those big blue eyes of Steve’s get sort of sad, at that.

At least distracting him’s easy - a hand slipped down between them, rubbing at Steve through his pants, and whatever melancholy Steve’s trying to nurture goes out the window. Steve makes a quiet sound and pushes forward into Bucky’s touch.

Bucky says, “Y’know, I’ve never been big on giving handjobs?”

“You call this a handjob?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “And it ain’t gonna turn into one, either, because I’m thinking - get this - I’m thinking I could get down on my knees and suck you off.”

“Is that right?” Steve says.

“That’s right.” Bucky looks him dead in the eyes, face impassive as he can manage. He pushes very gently at Steve’s arm, mostly just so he can get them turned around, so it’s Steve up against the wall instead of him. With something akin to a smirk, Bucky sinks down to his knees.

Steve’s most of the way hard by now, dick tenting his pants, and Bucky nuzzles up against it through the fabric for a few seconds, breathing in deep, before he goes for the zipper.

“Buck,” Steve says, watching him with something like awe. His eyes are a color like steam rising off a lake in late evening, a blue darker than usual with his lids dropped half closed and pupils taking up more than their fare share of iris.

“Hey, Cap.” Bucky addresses Steve’s dick instead of his face, laughing ridiculously to himself as he does, because - well, he’s seen Steve naked before at least once or twice, but that was just in the context of getting dressed, and he really never figured he’d ever end up here.

Still wearing the slightly ridiculous red lambskin gloves, Bucky wraps a hand around the base of Steve’s dick and opens his mouth up. He first gives a tentative lick at the head, then a more decisive one almost all the way from base to tip. The press of his tongue makes Steve shiver, and Bucky glances up at him.

Steve meets his eyes with an overwhelmed smile and Bucky looks away. Steve’s full regard is intimidating at the best of times, and this still feels more like a dream than anything that could plausibly happen. The floor’s a little cold even through the tights, and his shorts have ridden up a bit so he wiggles his hips to try and sort that out. Little discomforts like that at least help prove this is happening.

Bucky parts his lips wider and bends forward, taking Steve into his mouth. Steve’s big and hot against his tongue, and Bucky lets his eyes slip closed as he takes in the taste and smell of Captain America. Mostly just sweat and a sharp musky smell that brings back memories from a time long since gone, when he’d sometimes sit a little too close to Steve or whatever idiot bullshit he indulged in as basically a kid. A kid who’d been orphaned and put through special forces training at a young age, but a kid nonetheless.

Times have changed. Much as Bucky would’ve liked to have gotten on his knees for Steve back then, it’s maybe for the best that things turned out like this, that by some incomprehensible, miraculous knot of fate they’re both alive so far into the future that there’s flying cars and alien spaceships and all the things the stories promised him and still the most amazing part of it is being here at the same time as Steve.

The uniform thing’s a bit ridiculous, but Bucky’ll take what he can get. He figures Steve won’t mind too much if he undoes the shorts and shoves a hand down his tights to fist a hand around his own dick, stroking himself lazily and in time with the bobs of his head.

Bucky takes his time, keeping things real slow. Steve touches the side of his face, then decides he’d rather stroke Bucky’s hair. Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose - little difficult to sigh with Steve’s dick in his mouth, and that thought almost makes him laugh, but he resists the urge and just does a weird, silent shiver instead.

Steve keeps on watching him with those big blue eyes. “Never figured,” he starts. His breath hitches. He shakes his head, which makes Bucky hesitate, but he adds a, “Keep goin’, please. S’just.”

Turns out jerking off with gloves on isn’t quite the same as doing it bare-handed. There’s a little more distance involved, and Bucky half wants to imagine it’s Steve doing it instead, only Steve’s a bit distracted, not that Bucky can blame him.

Steve’s cock twitches against his tongue, and he tastes pre leaking from it already. Bucky chances opening his eyes, and Steve’s still staring at him, has been this whole time, that same awed look on his face. Steve’s cheeks are bright red and he’s got his teeth between his lip. He’s been awful quiet this whole time, which just makes Bucky wonder if Steve’d ever jerked off thinking of him back when they’d shared a tent, Bucky asleep just a few feet away.

He almost pauses just to tell Steve he can make noise if he wants, but it can wait, he figures, since Steve seems awful close. Bucky’s jaw aches; he rolls his shoulders back and lets out a breath.

It is only years and years of training that keep him quiet, stop him from moaning around Steve’s cock. He quickens the pace of the hand wrapped around himself. All the blood in his body seems to have found its way to his dick, which is achingly hard.

With Bucky quiet, save for the unavoidable wet sounds, Steve seemingly takes it on himself to pick up the slack, with a shivery moan and a, “God, but you’re good at this.”

Buck swallows, hard, though there’s nothing to swallow save his own saliva, which has Steve all sloppy-wet. He tightens his grip on himself; he’s close already even with this afterthought of a self-delivered handjob and Steve doing nothing but petting his hair and saying he’s doing a good job. That last bit is almost enough all on its own, if he’s honest.

He comes into his own fist, silent as ever. Maybe his breath hitches a little and he gags himself on Steve’s cock to keep quiet, eyes squeezing shut again for just a moment. The feeling’s intense and he’s not entirely prepared to focus on his own orgasm right now. Even physical sensation can be compartmentalized if you’ve got enough practice. He drags his tongue along the underside of Steve’s cock, all the way up to the tip, lingering there.

“I’m about to - Buck, here,” Steve says, pushing Bucky away. “You don’t gotta -”

“Nah, c’mon,” Bucky says, and pushes his head against Steve’s hand, getting his dick back in his mouth right as Steve comes. The taste still ain’t nothing to write home about, but Bucky doesn’t mind. Wouldn’t have felt right if he’d just let Steve come into his hand or something. Not that swallowing it down feels like an obligation or anything; that Steve’d given him the choice not to makes it feel more intentional, a deliberate decision. Bucky’s not big on letting people make decisions for him these days.

Steve’s cock spurts its last and then, spent, starts to go soft. Bucky pulls away then, wiping his mouth off against his glove with the back of his hand. He grins up at Steve, whose head is resting back against the wall, looking up dazedly at the ceiling.

“Now where’d you learn to do that?” Steve asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Probably not,” Steve admits, sheepish. “But I’m not complaining.”

-

Steve groans at the clock, as if that’ll make time go any slower. “We really do have to go.”

"I keep trying to tell everybody you're just a normal person like everybody else," Bucky tells Steve, pushing himself up on his elbows and grinning at him. His eyes are the bright, clear brown of leaves at the bottom of a shallow pond. "Nobody believes me. And now that I've got proof, I can't even tell anybody."

The look of gratitude on Steve's face is wonderful, but also hilarious.

"Jesus, can you imagine me trying to tell somebody about your little - uniform thing? That'd be the creepiest thing I could do." He gets up, pacing back and forth, hands on his hips. He lifts his chin up. "Hey, Namor, what's up? How's Sue doing? Yeah? Hey, guess what I found in Cap's closet the other day?"

"Stop," Steve says, covering his face with his hands.

"I’m telling you, Steve, I had the biggest crush on you for a million years," Bucky says, off on a tangent already. "A million, it was the worst. Why do you think me and Toro got drunk all the time?"

"You went and danced with - with everybody!" Steve says.

"I couldn't exactly dance with you," Bucky reminds him. He comes back to bed, and sits down on the edge of mattress. Finding one of Steve's hands, he covers it with his own. "It woulda been weird. But no, you were spending your days drooling over my ass in those little shorts, weren't you?"

"It wasn't like that!" Steve says, helplessly, keeping one hand over his face. He peeks at Bucky between his fingers. "I didn't want to ... you were younger than me, it wouldn't've been right."

"You're so noble," Bucky says, sighing, feeling very warm and pleasant right now. "We coulda died any second - hell, I did, sort of - and you still were worrying about my virtue. That's kinda sweet."

"It wasn't your virtue, it was just - you looked up to me," Steve says. He repeats himself: "It wouldn't have been right."

Bucky lifts Steve's hand to his face and kisses his knuckles. "That's really sweet, you know?"

"You're a jerk."

"Now, I gotta hear the story about how you thought getting one made in my size was a good idea," Bucky says, without preamble. Both of them know exactly what he means. His breath's warm against the back of Steve's hand; his fingers, meanwhile, are still cold. "You think, oh, hey, maybe there's gonna be a magic time paradox some day and we'll have no choice but to don our old costumes again? Because I’m having trouble believing you knew about that ahead of time."

"It was - you know, just in case," Steve says. "You might have wanted it."

"God, I know secrets are part of my whole thing," Bucky says, "But this is killin' me, Rogers. It's killin' me."

"Shut up and get dressed," Steve says. "This time we really do have a meeting with Fury, I promise."

"Ol' eyepatch can wait." Bucky gets up and briefly considers what to wear - the black of the Winter Soldier, his Captain America uniform, something casual - and then settles on something else entirely, pulling on bright red leggings.

"Buck," Steve says.

"What? You said I might want it," Bucky says. "Still feels weird wearing the other costume when you're still around, after all."

"Just put on something normal, please," Steve says. "Your hoodie! It's a nice hoodie, wear that."

Bucky grins. "Sure, it's nice, but do you wanna fuck me in it?"

"It's not like that!"

"You know you don't get to say that after last night. And this morning. And half an hour ago -"

"Just wear something normal. Please," Steve says. "I like your hoodie. It's nice."

"Then you wear it."

"Buck."

Bucky eyes him, then pulls a pair of jeans on, over the red leggings of the old costume.

Steve stares him down. "No."

Bucky’s put up with Steve before. He can handle a glare or two. “What? Nobody’s gonna know.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @asofterbucky


End file.
